


Wonder

by RiaInArmour



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 07:31:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13290054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaInArmour/pseuds/RiaInArmour
Summary: "I can hear the nothingness in it, loud and oppressing, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m going insane."





	1. One

It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about Megan. Life nowadays doesn’t really give you a whole lot of time to reminisce on the past, on the Before, so my thoughts have rarely strayed in her direction in the last couple months. It’s weird, because I used to think about her every day, her hair or her eyes constantly in the front of my mind, and now I can’t even recall what her voice sounded like beyond a half-remembered glimpse of the past.

This strikes me suddenly, the fact that she’s been dead for long enough that I’m starting to forget everything that I loved about her. I frown, lips pursed in frustration and forehead wrinkled. My head is foggy, too much strenuous activity and not enough food usually makes it too hard to think beyond the all-consuming fear of roamers. I’m not sure if thinking about Megan is better.

I bring a shaking hand up, holding it in front of my face. My nails are ragged, bitten and unkempt, and my dark skin is hidden by weeks worth of dirt and gore, but my ring is still there. Tiny and unassuming, covered in dried blood, but there.

We hadn’t been married, as it still wasn’t legal in Maryland, but she had proposed mere weeks before all the shit went down. I guess we could have found a church and someone to marry us afterwards, when everybody was too occupied with the dead, but by the time I had found an Officiant hiding out, Megan had already been dead two months.

I shake my head as if I could rid myself of the memories, but all I succeed in doing is making myself dizzy. Stumbling a little, I swing my bag off my back to grab something to eat before I remember. I ran out of food yesterday, eating the last can of ravioli from my bag, and even before then I hadn’t been eating very often, trying to ration what food I had managed to scavenge from already looted houses and stores. I’ve been walking aimlessly in an attempt to find more food and maybe somewhere to wash myself, but everywhere I’ve looked has already been drained dry of resources.

A bit of hair falls in front of my eyes when I trip, just barely stopping myself from falling flat on my face, and I impatiently brush the greasy, matted mess back. I force myself onto my knees, bones protesting and muscles screaming in agony from too much use and too little sustenance. Letting out a hysterical laugh that more closely resembles a sob, I clamber to my aching feet and continue forward, bits of gravel still biting into my palm and a scrape on my left knee.

The sun beats down on my back as I walk, relentlessly hot and doing nothing to help with the dryness of my throat and the emptiness of the bottle that is clipped to my belt. I can hear the nothingness in it, loud and oppressing, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m going insane. I stop myself from continuing that line of thought, recognizing the danger of self introspection. Maybe I should go back to thinking about my impending death à la roamers.

The day continues to be hot and humid as I follow the highway, encountering no dead and meeting no living. I’m overheating and I want to cry, but I’m not sure if I have enough fluids in my body to waste them like that.

Ignoring the burning of my eyes, I eye a sign as I pass it. I’m heading toward Atlanta, slowly but surely. I have no particular attachment to the city except for the fact that it’s where Megan lived with her older brother before we met and she moved to Maryland. I bare my teeth in a weak parody of a smile as I remember meeting her on a high school marching band trip and our brief relationship before I left. We had kept in contact until she graduated and we both went to the University of Maryland. She had been a year older than me, and proposed as soon as I turned eighteen.

Now I’m twenty-two, Megan is dead, and the people who killed her will never be brought to justice for what they did to her. For what they did to me.

The day passes and I know I’m close to the city because I can smell it. Cities have a higher of concentration of the dead, and it lingers in the still air. Surprisingly, I haven’t seen any roamers in a number of days, but I think it’s because the majority of the dead have left the barren city in search of meals, meaning I’ll be able to traverse the streets of Atlanta with relative ease. I hope.

I look up at the sky, where the sun is starting to set, and then around me. There are a few abandoned cars dotting the otherwise empty road, and I shrug to myself before struggling over the barricade separating the two sides of the highway. I pick the first car that I see that doesn’t have anything dead in it, setting my bag in the passenger seat and pulling out a blanket.

Curled up in the driver’s seat with the windows cracked as both a means of aeration and a chance at hearing if something approaches, I pull the blanket from my bag tighter around me. I screw my eyes shut, as if it will mean everything bad will go away, and shove my nose into the warm blanket.

It used to be her’s, the blanket, and for a second I imagine that I can still smell her on it, but all that I can scent is myself and the inside of my backpack.

I fall asleep cuddling the last remnants of my dead fiancée and a crowbar.

\---

I wake up to shattering glass and a rotting hand reaching toward my face.

I scream and pull myself away from the roamer that had broken the driver’s side window. Desperately, my hand fumbles for my crowbar, even as the other grabs onto the roamer’s arm to prevent it from ripping into my flesh.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

It’s becoming harder to keep the roamer away, my grip slipping as sheathes of skin slip off of its arm.

My searching hand eventually finds the weapon where its fallen underneath the seat. The thing’s head is still outside the car where I can’t reach, so I take a deep breath, grip the smooth metal tool tightly, and shove open the door.

The roamer is pushed back, still wildly attempting to grab me with it’s decomposing hand as I round the car door, crowbar at the ready. It finally registers that it’s meal has moved and starts to turn towards me, but I don’t let it get farther than that.

My crowbar slams into its head and blood and brain matter sprays me in the face. The roamer is dead again after the first hit, but I keep swinging the crowbar, over and over, until the face is an unidentifiable pile of mush. I’m shouting the entire time, an image of the man who killed Megan, who took her from me, superimposed over that of the roamer.

When I’ve exhausted myself, sweat and tears mingling to drip from my cheeks onto the hot asphalt, I drop to me knees next to the mangled body. For a second, I just let myself cry, weapon dangling from my hand, before hunching forward and steadying my breathing. After a moment, I look around to make sure I haven’t attracted any other roamers with all of the noises I’ve been making.

Confident that I’m safe for the time being I turn back to the car, gathering my stuff. A quick glance inside in the hopes of finding food or water yields two sealed bottles hidden beneath the back seats. I grab them with shaking hands, cracking one open and taking careful sips of the water. It’s warm and tastes like plastic from having sat in the heat for what’s probably been months on end, but I barely even notice in my quest to prevent myself from drinking the entirety of the bottle. Two bottles is barely enough to get me the rest of the way to Atlanta, so I have to continue with my strict rationing.

I forcibly take the bottle from my lips after a few more gulps and screw on the top, setting it in my bag instead of inside the bottle at my hip so I can avoid temptation. Apparently rejuvenated by my expression of anger, I almost feel peaceful. With a contented sigh, I swing the backpack on and take a step away from the car, kicking the roamer as I shuffle past it.

“So long, asshole.”

\---

The streets of Atlanta are eerily silent. It’s the kind of silent that makes me more nervous than the hissing and growling of roamers would have. In all likelihood, this kind of silence means that there are people here who are the cause of the piles of bodies lying on the sidewalk. I’d very much like to avoid those people, and I need to be very cautious to do so.

I avoid the bodies to the best of my ability, which is easy because someone had purposefully dragged them to the sides of the road, probably to let their cars pass. Even though none of the bodies have so much as twitched, I keep my crowbar hanging deceptively loose and at the ready in case a roamer is just hiding.

My travel is unhindered by anything dead or alive, and I start to hope that maybe I can get to Megan’s old apartment, maybe even find her brother. I’d spoken to him a couple times, and he was supposed to come and stay with us for the weekend right before the world ended. Nerves sing through my body as I get closer to the building, and worries start to invade my mind. I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s-

Something moves in the alley next to me, a shuffle and a scrape against asphalt. I tense, concerns sufficiently disrupted. I’m far enough into the city that I’m not confident in my ability to escape if there’s enough roamers.

I press my back into the side of the building next to the alleyway, waiting for whatever it is inside to reveal itself. The shuffling gets closer, and now I can hear the hissing and groaning associated with the dead. I smell them before I see them, the stench of sentient rot and gore, weeks and months old, having baked in the oppressive Georgia sun for who knows how long.

“Shiiiit,” I exhale quietly upon seeing the first roamers of what has to be a decent sized horde. Without a gun, I can take down three or four of the dead before being overwhelmed, but there’s at least three times that shambling out of the alleyway mere feet from me.

I stumble backwards at the intimidating sight before me, the bare skin of my shoulder scraping against the rough brick of the wall. Roamers are attracted by the scent of the living, but I’m hoping that the fact that I haven’t washed in weeks and I’m covered in gore will help disguise me. It seems to be working, their near-sightless eyes not noticing me and their noses fooled as I back away. Too distracted by the dead in front of me, I don’t notice the roamer walking up from behind me until it grabs a handful of my hair.

My grunt and scream of terror as the thing lowers its head to take a bite out of my shoulder is enough to attract the attention of the small horde, and I can see out of the corner of my eye as all of their rotted heads turn in the direction of my struggle. I swing my crowbar up into the roamer’s skull, feeling the spray of blood hit me before yanking the weapon back out with a sick sucking noise and getting ready to run in the opposite direction of the pack.

The snarls of the roamers increases as they draw closer, and I sprint down the street, weaving around the gore and the dead bodies. Caught up in the fact that I’m being chased by a horde, I don’t pay attention to the road until the tip of my shoe catches on a raised crack in the pavement and I go down, putting out my arms to catch myself.

Maybe I should have just let myself fall flat on my face, because I hear a loud crack before feeling shooting pain in my arm. I collapse in on myself, horde momentarily forgotten as the world blurs around me and tears burn in my eyes. A litany of curse words escape me while I struggle to me feet, protecting my right arm with my body and switching my crowbar to my non dominant hand.

My breathing is ragged and harsh, escaping me in fitful gasps as I face the roamer’s before me. I can’t bring myself to move my feet in a feeble attempt to run, but I know that I’m in no condition to fight. I lift my chin, knowing that I’m about to die.

I know I should close my eyes, spare myself from having to stare death in the face. Instead, I grip my weapon tighter in my head, feeling it catch against the metal of my ring, and square my shoulders. As such, I see it when the first bullet hits a roamer’s head. My eyes widen in disbelief as the rest of the herd is torn apart by a storm of bullets from behind me.

When the last roamer falls, I turn around, cradling my arm to my chest protectively. Two men wearing police uniforms stare back at me from in front of their car, weapons aimed down instead of at me.

For a second we just stand there silently, before I let out a harsh laugh, causing them to startle. They watch as I drop harshly to my knees, crowbar hitting the street with a clang.

“Boy, am I glad to see you guys.” The words have barely left my mouth, slurred and broken as they are, before blackness creeps in and I fall onto my face. I barely manage to stop myself from pressing my hurt arm into the ground, and I praise myself silently for my efforts. Just before I pass out, I see the police officers strolling towards me, feel their hands grab me roughly and pick me up. The world sway in front of me, and I see the back door of their car open before I’m swallowed.

\---

My eyes open slowly, squinting against the bright light entering from the window. I lie there for a second, enjoying the softness of the bed beneath me and how clean I feel, before realizing why that feels so _wrong._ Abruptly, I bolt upward, my head swimming for a second, looking around wildly for some clue as to where I am. My eyes land on on man standing near the door, dressed in hospital wear. That’s what finally alerts me to the medical equipment strung up around me and the cast on my arm.

“Where- Where am I?” My voice is weak, throat parched.

The man -doctor- smiles hesitantly.

“You’re in Grady Memorial Hospital. We’re helping you.”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some allusions to non-con in this chapter, and in the chapter's following. Nothing actually happens because I'm not a huge fan of rape in stories, but if this is triggering to you, you might not want to read.

I stare at the man, uncomprehending. “W-what? A hospital?”

The doctor’s hesitant smile grows at my confusion. He’s amused by me, but I can’t find it in myself to be irritated because it’s a nice smile, relaxes me to the point that my shoulders stop hurting as they slacken. They tense again when he takes a step toward me, arms held out in the universal symbol of peace. I bring my cast closer to my body, defensive, and he stops where he is. I’m sure I could cause some major damage by clobbering him over the head with it.

“I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Steven Edwards. I’m the doctor who treated your broken arm when you were brought in.” His pleasant expression falters for a second, and I see a glimpse of nervousness before he smooths it out and speaks, “I’m going to go get Dawn; she’s the leader here. She’ll explain everything to you.”

He’s out of the room almost before he’s done speaking, door shut carefully behind him, and I stare after him. When he doesn’t immediately appear to explain  _ what, _ exactly, is going on, I cautiously slide off the hospital bed. My feet land on the floor, and the feeling of the cold tile alerts me to the fact that my shoes are gone and I’m wearing some sort of hospital scrub, thin and offering very little protection. This makes me nervous; I'm less prepared for making a quick escape if the need should suddenly arise.

I take a step forward, stumbling on weak legs, head turning this way and that to try and take in the scope of oddity that surrounds me. The room is quiet and bare of any personal touches, there aren't any lights on, and the equipment is all turned off, but I can tell that this group of survivors is pretty well off. They must have a huge supply of medical items.

My slow shuffle stops right in front of the closed door, hand raised slightly to reach out for the handle. I hesitate, fingers curling in and arm pulled slightly back, but I steel myself. I can't be who I was before the dead came back and started eating people, I can't hide behind Megan anymore because she's dead and I'm all alone now. Whatever is in the rest of the hospital is something I’ll deal with. With a decisive nod I reach out for the handle again, about to open the door, when I hear voices out in the hall heading closer to my room.

I practically fly across the room, leaping onto the bed and wincing pathetically when I jar my arm and suffer the consequences of my carelessness. I sigh silently in relief when nobody comes bursting into my room to accuse me of attempting to escape, managing to arrange myself accordingly by the time I can hear the voices directly outside my door.

The handle shifts, the door opens, and in walks Dr. Edwards and a woman in a police officer uniform that I presume to be Dawn. She holds herself stiffly, shoulders drawn back and chin up, a stern look gracing her features, stretched tight by her impeccable bun. I can already tell that I won’t like her and, based on the quick sneer she gives me, the feeling’s mutual.

“What’s your name?” Dawn’s voice is pleasant enough, not harsh, but I can’t tell how she really feels after her initial slip up. Her face is a mask, and Dr. Edward’s isn’t much better.

“My…” The words slip away from me, voice giving out in way of my nerves and confusion. I quickly rally, sensing Dawn’s impatience. “My name’s Remy. Remington.”

Dawn’s lips purse in a semblance of a smile before she speaks again. “We found you in the streets, almost overrun by the rotters. Do you remember that?”

I glance down at my cast, then back up at her. I nod slightly then say, “Yeah, I remember that. Your people saved me.” I hope the gratefulness in my words is obvious to them as I’m speaking, afraid they’ll be offended otherwise. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for your officers.”

Her smile is back, more genuine this time, but still sharp, calculating. “You would.”

There is a moment of silence between us, turning the air stale with its awkwardness before Dawn shifts her weight and clears her throat. My eyes snap up from where I’d been staring at the gun at her hip to focus on her face. 

“So you owe us.”

\---

Since I’ve been here, I haven’t left Dr. Edward’s side unless I was forced to. He thankfully tolerates me shadowing him, and I’ve been learning a lot from him, watching him treat incoming patients. Unfortunately, I know that Dawn will soon choose someone for me to be the ward of, someone who will control everything I do for however long I’m here, and I’m dreading it.

I’ve only been awake a little longer than a week and I can already tell that this place isn’t as perfect as it seems. People are left to live and die based on their use to Dawn and the extent of their injuries, and I’ve seen what happens to the others here like Gorman’s wards. Seen the aftereffects of what he does to them. He’s been eyeing me lately, Gorman, and I know he’s going to request me for himself.

Before walking into the cafeteria where I can smell the pleasing aroma of steaming food, I peek around the corner to double check that Gorman isn’t there. I sigh in relief when I see Officer Parks instead, glad that I’ll be able to get some food without dealing with his harassment. I shuffle in awkwardly, grabbing a tray with my uninjured hand and start ladling out a small portion of food for myself. I take as little as possible; I don’t want to be here any longer than necessary.

I spin around carefully, bottom of the tray braced against my cast and holding it steady with my free hand. I can hear the scratch of Parks’ pen against paper, knowing he’s marking down everything I’m taking, adding up days to my sentence.

With another sigh, this one of exasperation, I make my way back out into the hall towards my room. I give myself a specific amount of time to eat before I go back out and help Edwards, so I can’t dawdle on my way to my assigned room.

I hold back a grunt of discomfort as my arm makes its displeasure know that I’m using it so soon by sending shooting pains up and down it. My room is right in front of me and I take a step through the door before stopping abruptly. There’s a boy in my room standing near the table by my bed, back turned to me. My hand lets go of the tray to drift down to the crowbar at my waist, but encounters empty air. I curse in my head then, as my cast arm wobbles and the tray falls from my grip to to the tile floor, out loud.

The boy startles at the crashing of the tray and my less than subtle swearing. He spins around, body tense, but relaxes when he just sees me standing in front of the mess of food on the ground. He approaches me, gentle smile at the ready despite my apparent wariness.

“Hey. Remington, right? I’m Noah, Dawn’s ward.”

I don’t relax at his words and he senses my anxiety, stopping where he is. He opens his mouth, but before he says anything, a sudden thought seems to strike him. I watch him, eyebrows crawling closer to my hairline by the second as he shoves his hands deep into his pocket.

“Shit, give me a second.” Noah stops, head turned down to the floor, eyes searching for whatever he lost. By now, I have a smile on my face, amused by this awkwardly adorable guy in front of me despite myself.

“By all means, make yourself at home. And it’s Remy, by the way. Not Remington.” He nods his head at my word, but seems more preoccupied with his search than with what I’ve said to him. I crouch down to scoop up what food I can; there’s no use in something so precious going to waste, and its not like I haven’t had worse than stuff that’s been lying on a relatively clean hospital floor. Noah’s lowered himself to the floor, taking extra care with his leg, and is running his hand under the bed.

“Aha!” He pulls his hand back, triumphant, and struggles back to his feet. A part of me, the me from Before, wants to offer to help him up, but the other part, the one that has kept me alive, screams at me to stay out of his reach.

He thrusts his arm towards me when he’s back up, and I flinch back from him again. I’m afraid there’s a weapon in his hand, but his fingers, the same dark color as mine, unfurl and reveal what he has hidden inside of his palm.

I stare at it uncomprehendingly for a second, fingers aching to reach out and take it from him but too overwhelmed to.

Noah takes his other hand and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, gift still held out for me. “Ya know, usually I’m more smooth about this, and I just leave ‘em in the pockets of the scrubs, but you kinda snuck up on me.” His smile grows at my look of wonder. “Just call me the Lollipop Guild.”

I reach out hesitantly - always so goddamn careful - grabbing the sucker from him. A smile of my own pulls at my lips, unfamiliar in the face of what’s been years of Hell. “Hi.”

\---

I trail behind Edwards, watching as he heads from room to room, checking on the few patients we have. He explains every step he’s doing, carefully and concise, and I’m grateful for it. If - when - I leave here, medical knowledge will definitely come in handy.

“Dr. Edwards?” My voice is quiet so as not to surprise him as he checks on a patient.

He raises his head a little to run his eyes over my body, looking to see if something is wrong, before ducking his head back down and questioning, “Yes, Remington?”

I shuffle my feet, scuffing my worn shoes against the tiles. I take long enough to respond that Edwards asks me to hand him some medicine, continuing on with his work. “How l-” My voice cracks, still nervous about talking to people after so many months on my own. “How long until my arm heals? Like, until I could use it normally.”

He doesn’t even bother looking up this time, taking out his stethoscope to listen to the man’s heart. I wait patiently; from the time since I arrived, I’ve almost gotten used to the way that people can just stand in one spot doing nothing and have a very low likelihood of dying.

“You’ve been here about three weeks now, and you’re still young, so…” He quickly does the math in his head. “I’d say you have another month or so until the cast comes off.”

I frown, forehead wrinkling as Edwards returns to his patient. Three weeks has already felt like such a long time, even with me having been unconscious for the first five days or so. Dawn still hasn’t said who I’m being assigned to, and with everyday that passes, I become more and more afraid that Gorman will wear her down and she’ll give me to him. I’ve been through a lot since the end of the world, same as anyone else, but I know that he could break me like nothing else has.

If I’m assigned to Gorman, I have no idea how I’ll survive long enough to get out of here. The cost of my continued presence in the hospital is adding up, and I’m sure that it’ll soon become impossible to pay off my accrued debt.

My frown deepens, complementing the deep bags under my eyes and the wild state of my greasy hair. I’m remembering what Noah had told me the day we met as he helped me clean up the spilt food all over the floor.

_ “How long have you been here?” My voice is quiet, low. I don’t trust that asking questions like this won’t get me in trouble. _

_ Noah’s smile drops, his expression becoming suddenly serious in the face of my question. It’s surprising to me, how he can drop his mask so quickly. _

_ “I’ve been here eleven months. I was with my dad, got overrun and hurt my leg. Some of the officers saw us and saved me, left my dad ‘cause they said he wouldn’t have made it. I know it’s ‘cause he would have fought back, though.” He looks sorrowful now, lips pursed and eyes heavy. _

_ “How much longer until you get to leave?” I don’t tell him that I’m sorry for his loss, recognizing the pain still fresh on his features. He wouldn’t appreciate it. _

_ Noah laughs, the sudden spike in sound causing me to jump from where we’re both sitting on the edge of my bed. I settle down and turn to face him, hearing the sadness and frustration hidden in the bark of laughter. _

_ “Nobody ever leaves here. Not unless you escape.” _

“Can you hand me that needle?”

Edward’s voice startles me out of the memory and I hurry to fulfill his request. He takes it from me, attaching it to the syringe. He leans over the man, preparing to inject him with whatever medecine Dawn has approved us giving him, when we hear a commotion out in the halls.

“What was that?” The noises grow louder, people shouting for Dr. Edwards, and he pushes past me, heading out into the hall. I rush out after him, my curiosity pushing me to find out who must have been injured. God, I hope Gorman’s been bit.

Two officers, Gorman and Parks, are rushing towards us, carrying a body between them. It’s a girl, a young one, hanging between them, legs dragging across the floor. Her blonde hair falls limply in front of her face, obscuring her features from me.

Edwards runs out to them, directing them to a room. I stand in the doorway,watching as he checks her for bites and scratches. I feel Noah come up behind me, hovering. He places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it in frustration.

We both know that this girl, whoever she is, will become just like us. 

Trapped.


	3. Three

I wince, moving my arm stiffly. Every movement sends pain shooting through the injured limb, the result of my rough treatment at the hands of Gorman. Dawn hadn’t assigned me to him, but that didn’t mean that he left me alone. Any one of the wards were subject to his treatment, and there wasn’t a damn thing we could do about it.

In a move that surprised both Noah and I, Dawn had assigned me to learn under Dr. Edwards. She said that I had been requested by him, apparently recognizing in me someone who could be useful. Having never been closer to being knowledgeable in medicine than Grey’s Anatomy, I was sure as hell suspicious, but anything that kept me out of Gorman’s hands full-time worked for me.

Edwards has me mostly observing him, learning procedures and the like. It’s mostly painfully boring work, with random moments of excitement. Last night, while helping an older man who was strapped to his bed get a drink of water, he had broken out of his bindings and smashed the cup. He had slashed my lip with a shard of it before having been tackled by an officer. I haven’t seen the man since, and my mind drifts to the elevator shaft.

I forcefully wrench my hand away from the cut on my face and focus on my task. The rest of the hospital is preoccupied with on of Gorman’s wards, Joan’s, escape, so Edwards has me doing the easy stuff for his rounds. Right now I’m changing the new girl’s dressings and checking her vitals. It’s weird being so close to another person and not being afraid of getting hurt. It’s something I haven’t felt since Megan died. I’m leaning over her, changing her position to prevent bed sores. I can feel her blonde hair tickling the edges of my hands and her slow exhales against my cheeks.

When I’m done, I step back silently, still watching her. She looks so peaceful, features slack and body limp, despite the bandages and cuts. I can feel the smile growing on my face, small but real, and once again can’t help but think of Megan right now.

She had this weird way of sleeping, spread out like a starfish, taking up the entire bed until I was shoved into a small space right up against her. During the night, she would shift and then wrap herself around me, clinging like a limpet. I would always wake up before her, being an early riser, and would have to extract myself from her tight grip or stay in her arms, watching the way the sun turned her black hair a deep blue. She would wake up hours later, burying her face into my shoulder to avoid the light, groaning and gasping as if she was dying.

She made the exact same noises when she choked to death on her own blood.

I brush my hand down the girl’s arm as I exit the room, relishing in the skin on skin contact. I can’t remember the last time someone touched me so casually, with no other intentions. There’s a sharp inhale of breath from behind me, and I spin around, gazing intently at the girl to see if she’s about to awake, but she continues to lie there. Disappointed, I turn back to the door to continue my rounds. Edwards will be in to check on her in a minute anyway, along with Dawn, to decide if they will continue treating her.

As I amble down the hall, walking as slowly as I can to delay the time I have to go back to work, I reach my hand into my scrub pocket. A second later, I pull my arm back out, two pieces of smooth metal gripped tightly in my palm. 

The first piece is my ring, now cleaned of gore. 

Gorman had seen it, commented on it. He had stood behind me while I was getting food and had whispered in my ear, breath hot and rancid smelling. _ “Your husband get eaten by rotters, or was it a live one who killed him?”  _

I had attempted to just walk away, but he followed me, whispering taunts and threats under his breath. Just before getting to my room, he had mentioned, almost casually, how I had better be good or he would take my ring away.

Since then, I’ve kept it in my pocket, afraid Gorman will take it from me regardless of whether or not I’m actually his to control. It’s the last thing I have left of Megan, and I know that if it’s taken from me, I’ll end up doing whatever is in my power to get it back. Even if that means killing him. Even if that means dying.

The second item in my hand is a scalpel. I’ve come to realize what Noah’s been telling me all along, that my debt will never be payed off. The only way I’m getting out of here is to escape, and if I can’t have my crowbar to aide me, I can have a scalpel.

Maybe I could steal a gun from one of the officers, but it would be practically impossible, and I’ve never used one before. Contrary to popular belief of dystopian movies, the end of the world didn’t equate to anybody and everybody being able to just pick up a gun and shoot it correctly and accurately. With a loaded gun in my hand, I’m maybe more liable to hurt myself than the person I’m aiming at.

I finish up with the last patient in the hall and see Dawn making her rounds with Edwards in tow. They’re headed to the new girl’s room and I shuffle after them, feet scuffing against the polished floors, curious.

Before they reach the room, I hear pounding against the door and a voice shouting from within, muffled by the heavy wood. Dawn and Edwards hear it too, Dawn getting ready to draw her gun as they hurry inside.

I’m far enough back that I can’t hear what’s being said, but I can see the previously unconscious girl standing, holding her IV needle in her hands as a weapon. She eventually drops it, face still drawn tight with tension and the smallest hint of fear hidden beneath her brave exterior. I know Dawn’s giving her the speech, the one where she talks about how the new girls owes the people here for saving her life.

I’m not sure if it would have been better for her if she had never woken up.

\---

The new girl, Beth, is doing rounds with Edwards. Dawn had given the order to stop life support for one of the newer intakes, and I’m sure that that’s where he’s taking her. He had told me to leave the rest of the rounds to him and Beth. I had thanked Edwards, ignoring the look of curiosity that had been on the blondes face -and her flinch at the bruises on my face- but, in reality, I’m dreading my free time.

Free time means Gorman harassing me while I try to get him to go away, usually to no avail. He’s not scared of Edwards, and Dawn doesn’t give a shit what he does to me as long as I’m still useful to them. Gorman hasn’t done anything worse than roughing me up a little bit, but I know that he won’t be satisfied with the way things are for long.

Sure enough, minutes after arriving back at my room, Gorman’s knocking on the door. I know better than to ignore him; he’ll be especially rough when he sees me doing my rounds the next day.

He’s lounging against the door frame when I peek out. He starts talking before I can say anything. “That new girl, Beth, I brought her in. She was surrounded by a bunch o’ rotters, passed out.” I stare at him, blank faced. Irritation mars his usually slimy expression. “She’s got a real nice body. I’m thinkin’ I might request her as my ward.”

I stare past his shoulder to the hallway, counting cracks in the wall and tracing watermarks with my eyes. It’s hard not to let him know that what he said got to me, and I don’t think I completely manage, based on the flash of smugness.

Gorman never forces his way into my room, maybe weary that Edwards might actually do something about him then. I know Edwards though, and Gorman’ll soon recognize that the doctor has no spine. Until then, I’m somewhat safe.

Before the cop leaves, he runs a hand through the small tufts of hair on my head and grips tight to my arm. “It’s a shame they had to shave it off. I would’ve loved to have somethin’ to grab.” I shudder and shake him off of me, skin crawling and the familiar burn of tears in the back of my eyes. Gorman just laughs cruelly and saunters off down the hall.

I stand in the doorway for a second, shaken. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I don’t notice the new girl until she’s right in front of me.

Scowling, I reach the door as Beth does, gripping the handle with a shaking hand. She stares at me, at my disheveled state and the bruise shaped like a hand wrapped around my arm, and brings her hand up, still wrapped in bandages, as if she’s about to come closer to me, touch me. I shut the door, blocking her face from my view. I may not have the strength to fight Gorman, but I don’t need the pity she would have doubtlessly thrown my way, as if it would make up for the fact that I will die here, body and mind ravaged, by the hands of a monster lucky enough to survive during the zombie apocalypse.

Backing away from the door until my back hits the bed, collapsing against it and finally letting the tears fall. When I had imagined my life at twenty-two, I thought I would be living with Megan, both of us going to college and on romantic dates, and planning our eventual wedding. I never believed that she would be dead at the hands of men who benefitted from the end of the world more than anyone had the right to.

I laugh humorlessly, arms clutched tight to my middle. The only good thing about this whole shit show, the thing that had devastated me for weeks back Before, is that I’m infertile. I won’t get pregnant -a death sentence anywhere else but a hospital- with a child that shares Gorman’s blood.

\---

After my chores are completed and my hunger grows too large to ignore, I head to the cafeteria for food. Gorman’s there, and I almost head right back to my room, but he catches sight of me, smirking with that smarmy look all over his asshole face. If I leave now, I run the risk of him getting pissed at me.

I walk in, Gorman ignoring me except for a few glances, writing down half of what I take. He calls it an incentive for my eventual ‘services’. If I hadn’t felt so numb, I would have thrown up at that. When I had told Noah, he had looked a little green.

Beth walks in behind me as I’m grabbing some guinea pig. I can practically feel Gorman perk up from across the room. She ignores our stares - mine subtle, his less so - and starts putting food on a tray. Gorman sidles over to her, and I work on blocking out their conversation to the best of my ability.

When she does speak, her southern accent is much more soothing than Gorman’s is, less grating on ears that are much more used to a Baltimore accent.

I tense at his subtle threat. “Everything costs something, right?”

Watching out of the corner of my eyes as she stares at him in a tense silence, I envy her confidence when she just walks away with her food. Gorman glances at me, radiating that innocence that always makes me wary.

“Huh.”

\---

It’s late that night, after Dawn’s temper tantrum and Beth getting slapped in the face. I hadn’t been there, hiding in my room instead, but I heard through the grapevine exactly what happened. Now I’m aimlessly wandering down halls, remembering who’s in each room. I pass one that must be Beth’s; she’s sitting on her bed, talking to Dr. Edwards. She looks up at me as I walk past, then back down when she notices me looking at her.

I almost smile at her when she looks up at me again, but a scuffle down the hallway draws my attention. It’s Joan, being led into a room by Officers Bello and Tanaka, blood dripping from a bite wound on her arm. My mouth is agape and I barely register Edwards and Beth come out of her room and stand beside me.

Gorman steps out of the room a second later and speaks to the doctor, voice severe, “Dawn needs you, now.”

Edwards practically sprints down the hall, and I follow close behind, then Beth does. I ignore the conversations going on around me, Joan’s cutting words to Dawn and Gorman, Gorman’s reaction and subsequent removal from the room. I’m too busy doing whatever Edwards instructs me to do, putting on gloves and strapping Joan down.

Edwards starts cutting into Joan’s arm, sans the rejected anesthetic, and I struggle to tie a tourniquet to manage the bleeding and simultaneously hold her shoulders down. Beth sees my struggle and takes over the job, freeing me to continue mine. For a second, our eyes meet, hers reflecting horror and mine reflecting how out of depth I feel, having never helped the doctor on something this severe before.

I look into her eyes, the ones that look grey in the dim lighting of the hospital, and with the sound of Joan’s screaming and Beth’s sobbing, and the gush of warm blood on my gloves, and the vibrations running through the returned woman’s arm with each slice of the Gigli saw, I see a spark of anger. Rebellion.

\---

Beth and I walk side by side, silent except for her sniffles. She’s remarkably calm for having seen what we just saw, and if I didn’t feel so bewildered by what had just happened, I’d be more concerned for her.

My arms are still flaked with dry blood, my hands only spared because of the gloves I had made sure to wear. Beth had washed off the few droplets that managed to reach her skin, but I hadn’t taken as much care as she had in cleaning myself.

We’re close to the laundry room now, just another few hallways, and I can practically feel the awkward tension between us. Neither of us has said anything past inquiring if the other was going to clean their bloody shirts and I’m not sure if she would even want to speak to me. I’m not like Noah; I don’t know how to speak to other people without accidentally insulting or annoying them.

Megan used to do all of the speaking in front of people. She was going to college to become a politician, and she spoke out at parades and rallies all of the time. Whenever people would ask how we met or where we were from, I would hide behind her, too timid and shy to speak to anyone but her, my family, and a select group of friends.

I don’t have anyone to hide behind anymore.

“It’s Remington.” Her head shoots up, and even if I hadn’t been staring at her I would have sensed her confusion. I blush in embarrassment, cursing my social ineptitude. “My name, I mean. It’s Remington, b-but, everyone calls me Remy, so you can. If you want to.”

She smiles softly and my eyes catch on it, before forcing them back up to look at her. “Beth.”

I nod, unsure of how I’m supposed to continue the conversation, so I just let the possibility of one fade away. My palms are sweaty, hands shaking from nerves, the kind of nerves that I haven’t felt since I asked out Megan, terrified of that beautiful, older girl and her infuriatingly knowing eyes. Noah had made all of the overtures of friendship for me, and before that, Megan had always been the one to introduce me to people.

The door to the laundry room is ahead of us now, and I sigh silently in relief. I push open the door, offering my companion a quick glimpse of a smile that feels too tight and unnatural, and we both walk inside.

Noah’s there, taking care of some of the laundry. He grins tiredly at me before seeing Beth and saying, “I’m Noah,” he gesture with his hand, “Of the Lollipop Guild.”

Beth clearly knows what he’s talking about, but still looks distrustful, so I step in. “This is Beth, Noah. She, well…” I trail off, unsure of what to say about this girl who I know virtually nothing about.

Picking up the slack that my awkwardness has caused, Beth finally speaks. “Thanks for that.”

Noah nods, taking our dirty clothes and handing us new ones. “I figured you could use a pick-me-up after this morning. Guess I should have brought you two the whole jar.”

Beth gets over her reservations just as quickly as I had when confronted with Noah. “You know what happened with Joan?”

I barely manage to conceal my flinch at the girl’s name, hearing Beth talking about eventually paying off debts, Noah quickly, but gently, shooting her down, and their talk of escaping. That last part makes me smile faintly; I knew that look in her eyes would be good for us. I only tune back in when I hear Beth asking about his home.

“Richmond. Virginia. We had walls.” I can see his bright smile at the thought of his family even in the dimness of the room, and I straighten out from my slouch against the wall. “See, they think I’m scrawny. They think Remy’s weak. But they don’t know shit about us. About what we are. About what you are.”


End file.
